


The Gift-Wrapped Captain

by JungleKitty



Series: Kirk/Brandt Cycle [25]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, Lingerie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21893794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JungleKitty/pseuds/JungleKitty
Summary: Kirk gives Brandt a sexy present. She's not impressed.
Relationships: Kirk/Brandt
Series: Kirk/Brandt Cycle [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1524224
Kudos: 3





	The Gift-Wrapped Captain

**Author's Note:**

> (c) 1999 Jungle Kitty. Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.
> 
> This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. It is part of the Stories of the First Five-Year Mission (2264-2269).

Jim Kirk broke away from a very sweet kiss and whispered, "I have a present for you, Suzanne."

"Later."

"No, I think this would be a very good time for it."

He went into the bedroom and removed a gaily wrapped package from his kit. He chuckled quietly, remembering how its contents had caught his eye during a few hours' sojourn on New Savannah. The rest of his body had indicated its approval, so he'd bought it. Having to wait several long weeks to present it to his lover had heightened his anticipation. Now, glancing around Captain Brandt's orderly yet comfortable bedroom, he noted the neatly made bed. /Not for long./

Trying not to smile too lasciviously, he returned to the living room and presented the parcel to its waiting recipient. She removed the wrapping, opened the box and reached inside. Lifting out a delicate wisp of silk and lace, she looked at him dubiously.

"This looks more like a present for *you*," she observed tartly.

"Not my size."

She turned the tiny peach-colored raiment in her hands. It looked too skimpy to be anyone's size. And she could see there were more articles of so-called clothing in the box.

"Try it on," he urged.

She exhaled slowly and stood.

"All right." She started toward the bedroom. "But the next time I mention my cowboy fantasy...I expect cooperation."

"Yes, ma'am," he drawled.

***

/So it's come to this./

Over her shoulder, Brandt looked into the full-length mirror and saw--well, most noticeably, her ass. The almost non-existent strap of the thong-style panties encircled her waist and disappeared teasingly into the crevice between her cheeks. Gazing at her prominently displayed buttocks, she silently marveled at the concept and discomfort of backless underwear.

Turning slowly, she viewed the supposedly erotic splendor with increasing dismay. An inhumane bustier pinched her waist and barely covered her nipples. The tops of her breasts swelled in garish abundance, making her think of over-filled muffins. She firmly pushed her bosom into the garment but it stubbornly popped back up and she clicked her tongue in distaste.

/Great. Spring-action tits./

The ensemble was completed by thigh-high stockings and--oh god--heels. Four-inch, shiny, gold, high heels. A strange, old-fashioned term popped into her head. Come-fuck-me-pumps.

She turned slowly, studying the bizarre female in the mirror.

/He can't be serious. What am I supposed to *do*?/

She puckered her lips in an experimental pout, which looked so ridiculous that she erupted in silent, convulsive laughter. Nearly doubled over and barely able to breathe, she grabbed the edge of the mirror and held on until the gleeful spasms ceased. Then, pulling herself upright, she glared sternly at her reflection.

/All right, Brandt. Pull yourself together. Jim bought you this for a reason and if you can keep a straight face, you'll probably have a helluva good time./

She took a few tentative steps around the room, adjusting her usual confident stride to the restrictions of her new footwear. She found it was easier to keep her balance if she swung her hips.

/Probably the reason this torture was invented in the first place. I'd like to get my hands on the sick, misogynistic--/

"How does it look?" Kirk called from the living room.

She glanced apprehensively toward the door. Then, marshaling her nerve, the pride of Special Ops drew herself to attention and lifted her chin defiantly.

/Never show fear./

She turned sharply, stumbled slightly, and went to the door. Pushing it open, she struck what she hoped was a provocative pose.

"You tell me."

***

Anticipating the pleasures of his impulsive purchase, Kirk spoke almost before he saw her.

"You look..."

Then he saw her.

"...ridiculous!"

He erupted into raucous laughter.

"You...son of a...*bitch*!"

Enraged, she flew at him in a zealous fury but her initial assault was compromised by the impracticality of her footwear. Howling with imprudent hilarity, Kirk evaded her easily. She stopped in mid-charge and, hopping from foot to foot, tore off the ludicrous impediments and hurled them at him.

"How *dare* you!"

"Suzanne, I'm sorry!" He dodged the first of the stilettoed projectiles, his gasping laughter diluting the sincerity of his apology. "I'm sorry--Ow!"

She winged him with her second shot and he fled to the far side of the room. With a resounding bellow, she vaulted the dining table and floored him with a flying tackle.

"I will *never* forgive you for this!" she railed as she tore at his shirt. "Let's see how *you* look in this get-up!"

With a sudden roll to the side, he propelled her off his stomach and beat a hasty, scuttling retreat into a corner. She scrambled to her feet and moved toward him, growling curses from the farthest reaches of the galaxy. He raised his hands defensively as his fantasy-gone-ballistic closed in.

Wisely containing his mirth, he shouted, "Suzanne! I thought it would look good! I swear! It looked great on the mannequin! I mean--you're just not--uh--on you, it's just--"

/Shut up, Kirk, you're digging yourself in deeper./

"Just *what*!" The absurd menace in silk and lace towered over him.

His mind searched frantically for an adjective that wouldn't result in his immediate dismemberment.

"Inappropriate?"

***

Brandt stared at him, fuming, for five seconds that seemed much longer. Then, with sudden and violent agitation, she bent backwards and shook her fists in the air, howling in frustration. Almost throwing herself across the room, she stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

After a judicious pause, Kirk cautiously approached the portal he didn't quite dare open.

"Suzanne?" he called tentatively.

"*What*!" An angry roar.

"I swear I didn't buy it as a joke. I would never do that. I thought you'd like it--"

"HA!"

"All right, I thought *I'd* like it."

Hearing only silence, Kirk pushed the door open and entered cautiously. Brandt stood in the middle of the room, completing her inventory of colorful expletives and struggling to remove the bustier. He watched her for several seconds, trying not to enjoy the irate quasi-striptease.

"Can I make it up to you?" he asked contritely.

She glanced at him, eyes flashing.

"*No*."

After watching her tug furiously and ineffectually at the stubborn buttons for a few moments longer, he crossed to her and put his hands on hers.

"May I?" he asked in his most disarming tone.

With an angry huff, she jerked her chin and dropped her hands to her sides. Correctly interpreting the gesture as a reluctant yes, he gently began releasing the buttons.

"I *am* sorry, Suzanne. I've never been very good at gifts."

"Well, next time, stick to flowers," she grumbled.

"Duly noted."

She looked down and watched the obstinate garment succumb to his effortless manipulations.

"It's a little disconcerting--how well you do this," she muttered.

"Well..." he purred as the last button slipped free, "I only bought you this outfit so I could remove it."

And with that, his ill-considered gift fell to the floor, having unexpectedly served its purpose.


End file.
